


Drunken Release

by Aris_Silverfin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Fatlock, Feedism, Gen, M/M, Overeating, Pre-Johnlock, belly stuffing, feedee john, gainer!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4238697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a Prompt: John comes home one night spectacularly drunk and somewhat full from all the beer he's had but decides to stuff himself silly (which Sherlock, inevitably, helps with)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Release

Sherlock grunted in annoyance as he completely missed the test tube and sent the irreplaceable sample dribbling to the floor. A week's work! Wasted! The tall, slim detective let out a low growl and then dumped a weak base over the spill to neutralize the lost sample. He would clean it up later. Right now, Sherlock needed to have a word with John, who by the sound of it, was currently demolishing the entire kitchen.

Sherlock swept out of his room to the kitchen, prepared to berate John about making such noise at 2 in the morning (despite the blatant hypocrisy of the act). However, as the scene revealed itself to the detective, he found himself quite incapable of speaking another word.

John had warned Sherlock that he was an unusual drunk. Upon setting out with Lestrade for the evening for some sort of social event Sherlock hadn't bothered to remember what was, his flatmate had advised him to avoid him upon his return. Sherlock had been dubious, if a bit curious. Was John violent? Or was the man apt to babble and giggle until he vomited? It turned out that the answer was neither. John never failed to surprise him.

Sherlock's lungs were burning. He realized he'd been holding his breath and so he let it out in a long stream.

"Whacha lookin' at? Hm?" John asked, taking a huge bite of the mince pie he was holding. Mrs. Hudson had brought them up yesterday. Now it appeared that John had eaten- no, demolished the whole half dozen.

"N-nothing," Sherlock spluttered, swallowing as his mouth watered inexplicably. He felt he should avert his eyes, but couldn't bring himself to.

"Tha's right," John grunted, popping the rest of the pie into his mouth and swallowing it down with a long gulp from the open milk carton beside him. It was so odd to see John like this. John, who always kept himself in control... disciplined... Now here he was, stuffing greasy gravy-filled mince pieces into his mouth as fast as he could chew them.

Sherlock's eyes flicked over his flatmate, dangerously close to forgetting to breathe again as he took in just how _full_ John was. The ex-army doctor kept himself in shape. He was fit under those jumpers as Sherlock had observed upon bursting into his flatmate's room one morning to drag him off to a case. But now... there was a definite rounding there beneath the jumper. The fabric seemed to tug and crease, highlighting what could only be described as a _belly_. A proper belly. On John. Wow.

Sherlock stepped closer, cautiously as if approaching a wild animal. John was certainly eating like one. The man in question paused for a moment, let out a monstrous wet burp and gave his belly a hearty slap before downing the rest of his milk. The detective found himself biting the inside of his cheek. He quickly sat down before John could notice his friend's new interest in the proceedings.

"H-hungry?" Sherlock asked as he realized neither of them had said a word in quite some time. He coughed to cover up an undignified noise as John rucked up his jumper, rubbing his bloated belly idly as he looked around for more food.

"Yeah. Really fuckin hungry," John agreed, still rubbing, one finger drifting to his navel and circling it. Sherlock found his mouth positively watering. How would John feel like this? Warm, definitely. Perhaps even soft? More likely springy... that light dusting of gold hair was pulling a growl from the detective's throat.

"I think we have some left over take away in the refrigerator," Sherlock added quickly. "I could get it if you li-"

"Nah, I'll go," John mumbled. He planted a hand on the table and hefted himself up with a low groan, his bloated belly arching out proudly in front of him as he waddled to the refrigerator. Sherlock crossed his legs. He should leave. Lusting over his straight flatmate- being in love with him perhaps- was one thing. Sitting in close quarters with an erection and encouraging his drunk flatmate to stuff himself to bursting was something entirely different. Sherlock Holmes was a bad, bad man. He chewed the inside of his cheek as John returned and collapsed back into his chair. The good doctor flipped the lid off a large container of chow mein and tucked in without further ado.

Sherlock watched, battling with himself. He should leave, return to his room. But...

"Spring roll?" Sherlock asked, lifting one delicately in his long, elegant fingers, his voice too deep and too gruff. John looked up, still chewing. His eyes flicked from Sherlock to the offered food, then back again. Then he leaned forward and engulfed it in one bite.

"F'anks," John said through bulging cheeks. He slapped his gut again and swallowed. "S'good. Really good."

"It is," Sherlock agreed, rather breathlessly. He selected another roll and offered it to John at the next opportunity. Clearly John wanted to eat, was planning to regardless of Sherlock's help. He could enjoy this. Just tonight.

And so he did. He fed John the last of the half dozen spring rolls as the man plowed through what must have been nearly a pound of noodles. He watched John's belly grow and swell, rounding out and forcing his jumper further up his chest. The faint lines of his abdominal muscles were gone, stretched into a bloated ball of a gut thanks to the doctor's gluttony. Sherlock watched John's hand explore the new curve with jealousy, his own fingertips itching to probe the mass for himself. But he resisted. He doubted John would be amiable to his touch. Instead he found his friend a drink to make all those noodles go down more easily. John did appreciate that. He gulped down the soda and let out a long belch that seemed to rattle the dishes in their cupboards.

"Mm, thanks. Wanna rub? Hurp-Hurts a bit," John mumbled, snatching at Sherlock's hand the next moment and pressing it against his gut. Sherlock felt himself trembling. He swallowed and slowly began caressing the tightly stretched skin. John's belly. John's warm overstuffed perfect-

John was watching him, rather slyly. Sherlock stopped rubbing and withdrew his hand, blushing.

"Hah! You liiiike it," John sang, still grinning in a sloppy drunken way that somehow managed to look smug.

"Er..." said Sherlock, attempting to conjure up a haughty air. "Maybe you should. Bed. You're drunk, John."

"Yeah, yeah," said John, waving a hand impatiently, "M'hurp- drunk. Still. I like it too." He patted his belly and winked. Then he hefted himself up again, with a loud moan that made Sherlock shiver.

"Thanks. Needed this," John added, smiling groggily and patting his belly again. He cupped it in both hands and wobbled off to his room. "Niiiiight, Sher-humph-lock!"

"G-goodnight, John," Sherlock choked. He listened to John climbing the stairs, huffing and burping from fullness. Then the door snapped shut and Sherlock let out a moan of frustration, his forehead thumping against the kitchen table. Maybe John wouldn't remember all this tomorrow morning? What if he did? Sherlock felt his mind spinning, exploring the outcomes of either scenario. He had to admit, he rather preferred the latter. That one seemed to result in a plumper, softer John Watson. Yes. Infinitely preferable. Sherlock grinned and returned to his bedroom, leaving the empty platter, cartons, and glasses for John to find the next morning.


End file.
